


Catching Butterflies

by skeletalparade (boythighs)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, High School, Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boythighs/pseuds/skeletalparade
Summary: It was a straight shot from here to the city, and sometimes Yuuri liked to imagine that he could bike the whole way in. Just start pedaling and never stop, no turning back. He could get a job in the city and pretend like his time on the island had never existed.He wouldn’t do any of that, of course, not really, but it was a nice thought to entertain when things got hard. Some days it was the only thing that kept him afloat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic actually ranks in at the longest fic I've ever written, and this is only the first chapter. Buckle up, friends, because this is gonna be a wild, wild ride. 
> 
> **WARNING:** this first chapter does have some very heavily implied homophobia, which includes slurs. There's also a vague mention of fatphobia.
> 
> This chapter is a hell of a lot of foundation and set up, so if it reads kinda slow then that's why. I've got some big ideas, and if people like this enough, I'll be more than motivated and encouraged to post more.

The cafe was a nondescript building on the outskirts of town, facing Main Street and consequently the expansive field which separated Main Street from the ocean. At this point, Yuuri and his family had spent nearly half his life owning the cafe and dwelling in the spacious apartment above it. Suffice to say, the cafe had seen better days.

The awning out front was sun-faded and color-dulled, and because it covered only the front of the building, the colors of the walls were at odds with each other; the once bright, vivid yellow of the siding had, over time, lost its true sense of being and had shifted to a pukey yellow-green, chipped in places, and most people cringed at the sight of it. Yuuri had been urging his father to repaint it for years, now, to no avail. His father maintained that if people were still coming inside, there was no reason to fix what was not broken.

There were no other buildings on either side of the cafe. It was the first thing anyone entering the town saw, and the last thing - the thing that faded in the rearview mirror as cars and buses drove away - when anyone left the town.

The Cove Cafe was a staple upon the island, memorable and loved by all who visited it. The Katsukis were blessed by an influx of tourists every year during the spring and summer months, earning enough revenue in just the four to five months that the seasons spanned that it could tide them over until business picked back up the following year.

Their family had no shortage of blessings in owning the place, even if Yuuri all too often thought about what it might be like if their lives were different.

Yuuri sat at one of the round tables outside of the cafe, thumbing listlessly through his summer reading. Inside, the cafe was bursting at the seams with customers, the line backed up all the way to the door. It wasn’t that they were the only place to get a good meal - there were many places lining Main Street and even buried deeper within the small, provincial town. It was just that the Cove Cafe maintained a touch of familial love in every cup of coffee, in every slice of cake, in every bowl of udon, and this aspect alone set it apart. There was _nowhere_ else to find anything like it.

The light breeze washing in off the waterfront toyed with the pages of Yuuri’s book, but it did not bother him. All of the words on the pages danced before his eyes, none of them meaning anything, not a single one holding any significance or value to him. Reading a four hundred page novel was not how he had anticipated spending his summer. In the fall he would be a senior (finally, _finally_ ), and all of his teachers, as far as he was concerned, expected way too much out of a seventeen year old boy. An unfair amount, really.

All of Yuuri’s friends, the scant few that he had, anyway, had driven to the mainland for the summer. Phichit had even flown out of the country. To varying degrees, Yuuri envied all of them. Oh, what he would be willing to sacrifice if it meant even just a little time free of this town, free of their small, boring island. The novelty of living here had worn off long ago by now. All of the things which had seemed exciting in his childhood now seemed dull, monotonous, and mundane. The island had become, for Yuuri, a black and white snapshot of an otherwise colorful world, dimming more with every passing day.

Sometimes, Yuuri really missed Japan. He knew that he had been too young at their time of departure to really be able to remember much about it in any level of detail now, but there were snippets of memories that he still held onto, things that still meant something to him. Vague concepts of his life in Japan still remained, and they were treasured.

With summer always came a loneliness more burning than the heat the island donned. Yuuri already had so very few friends, only Phichit, Yuko - who had graduated in the spring and now spent most of her time preparing for college, and would be leaving for good in the fall - and… he supposed he did count Takeshi, Yuko’s boyfriend, Guang-Hong, and Leo. Others rested in the peripheral of Yuuri’s small social circle - Seung Gil, Emil, Mila, Sara, and Minami, a couple years Yuuri’s junior but always coming into the cafe to fumble his way through conversation with Yuuri nevertheless. All of them were in some way associated with the people Yuuri truly considered friends, but not necessarily Yuuri.

For all of them to be gone, or busy, or otherwise disinterested in spending time with Yuuri outside of a school setting… Yuuri was, to put it simply, reminded daily of just how solitary a boy he was. It never failed to put a damper on his summers, but he soldiered on, year after year, biding his time until school would start back up and his group of people would be forcibly reunited.

The truth was, though, that Yuuri remained constantly aware of his ineptitude when it came to making and maintaining friendships. In many ways, Yuuri had a tendency of being more callous and reserved than he meant to be. Fiercely competitive, Yuuri could be a firecracker if he did not dutifully remind himself to watch it. A lot of it boiled down to his social anxiety - and underneath the roughened skin, pulled taut from vigilant bullying and reckless judgment that had plagued him for most of his life, Yuuri was still soft on the inside. He still _wanted_ friends, but he was shy and defensive, and very seldom did people try to stick around and wait his moodiness out.

It was easier to shut people out and stay to himself than it was to open up only to be shut down. This Yuuri knew as utter, unabashed, one-hundred percent fact, as he had lived through it too many times to keep track of.

A bright, blinding flash of light startled Yuuri, causing him to jump in his seat and fling his book off the table in a flurry of movement as he hurried to cover his eyes from any further onslaught. He shoved his fingers under his glasses to scrub at his aching eyeballs, groaning.

“Oops!” The voice was coy, boyish. Unfamiliar. Yuuri could not pin the tone quality to anyone that he knew - which meant, essentially, everyone on the island. “Sorry, I didn’t realize my flash was still on.”

Yuuri removed his fingers and straightened his askew glasses, turning to the unknown individual with a glare.

“Should you have been taking a picture of a total stranger in the first place?” Yuuri asked, incapable of keeping any hint of the annoyance he felt hidden. The traces of it were in every word, right down to the syllables.

The boy had the audacity to look sheepish, though he never did stop smiling. He raked lithe fingers through platinum blonde hair, toeing the edges of an unnatural silver. Around his neck, his camera dangled, the lens of it catching tiny glints of the sunlight overhead as the boy shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn’t dressed like a tourist in the common sense, but Yuuri knew by his clothing that he must be one, for there was no resident of the island (within their right mind, in any case) who would wear a long sleeved shirt in the middle of June, when temperatures could be upwards of 110 degrees. He looked about Yuuri’s age, if not a little older; there was, as his voice betrayed, a boyish youth permeating his aura.

“Sorry,” he said again. “You were lost in thought, but your eyes looked very sad. Kind of like you were longing for something. I was standing on the other side of the street,” he pointed out towards the ocean. “I was taking pictures of the water, see, when I saw you and with a look like that on your face, it goes without saying that I had to take a picture of you, too!”

Yuuri stared at him, mouth hanging agape at the lack of any sustainable logic in the boy’s words. He felt hot indignation festering in his gut, finding the boy’s words more rude than the flattery he had meant them as. Yuuri knew exactly where this was going, and he wasn’t going to stick around to take any more of it. Not now, during the summer, when he was free of the jaunting for at least a few months.

How could a tourist be just as nasty as the island’s inhabitants, he wondered - but it didn’t matter. Yuuri didn’t care. People were awful, and that was that.

“That’s kind of creepy.” Yuuri said coolly as he got to his feet. It wasn’t until he went to grab his book off the table that he realized it wasn’t there anymore, his hands grasping at thin air instead. Yuuri bent over to look around for it, searching the sidewalk to see how far it had been thrown, but was disturbed by the boy clearing his throat. “What?” Yuuri scathed, popping back upright.

The boy was extending his book to him, that ever-present smile of his grating against every nerve Yuuri had in his teenaged body. Yuuri snatched the book out of his hands, fingers trembling, and tried not to feel guilty about the shocked way the boy regarded him at the animosity Yuuri was blatantly displaying. What right did have to a look like that when he had been the one to invade Yuuri’s privacy? When _he_ had been the one to stage this scene?

“Thanks,” Yuuri grumbled, turning to head into the cafe and to escape. When his hand was on the handle of the door, the boy called out to him, and, despite his better judgement, despite his inclinations to ignore him entirely, Yuuri still found himself turning back around. Always the polite one, he supposed, even when he was being targeted.

“I’m Viktor.” The boy told him, hands on his camera, smile on his face. His entire body was engulfed in a halo of sunlight, silvery hair being tossed around in the wind, every strand dancing to a silent song played by an invisible symphony. For a split second, Yuuri was speechless, heart rending itself open at just how beautiful the boy was. The color of his eyes was crisp and blue, like the ocean waters that Yuuri had harbored love for since infancy. The anger inside of him dissipated, the rude remarks forgotten, the insolent snapping of the picture a memory as distant as the ones of Japan.

But when the second was over and Yuuri was himself again, he did what Yuuri did best - and ignored the problem entirely by walking away from it. Out of sight, out of mind.

The cafe door closed behind him, the bell above it jingling pleasantly as he passed over the threshold, and if he had turned around at that moment he might have seen the look of hurt dawning over Viktor’s face before he backed up into the street and took another photo, this time of Yuuri’s freshly emptied chair.

On his way to the back of the cafe, Yuuri found that his entire body was shaking. It was a damn near thing, breaking down in the cafe itself. Yuuri managed to get through the door that revealed the stairs that would take him to their living spaces, sending silent prayers up to all the gods he could imagine that he hadn’t caused a scene in the cafe by having a panic attack in front of all those customers.

He all but ran up the stairs leading to his family’s apartment, darting down the hall to his own bedroom, where the door slammed shut behind him just in time for him to collapse back against it. The book felt heavy in his arms, heart hammering in his chest. The encounter with Viktor reminded him all too well of the ones from grade school, from junior high - the only thing missing was the cold, harsh slam of his back into brick walls or metal lockers. The phantom feel of it shivered up and down his spine, and Yuuri shuddered to think of it.

His book was tossed onto his desk, and Yuuri tried his best to concentrate on literally _anything_ but the color of Viktor’s eyes.

☼

“That’s weird, man.”

Yuuri stared at the grainy, pixelated version of Phichit’s face on his laptop screen and sighed, nodding his head in agreement. He’d explained the whole situation from earlier that afternoon, and though Phichit did seem to agree with Yuuri’s sentiment, he also looked highly amused by it. He may have been grinning. Yuuri could hardly tell through Phichit’s awful camera quality, but he also knew how his best friend ticked. He didn’t need 1080p to differentiate Phichit’s grinning mouth from his grimacing one. Which is what he should have been doing. Grimacing _with_ best friend, not grinning _at_ his expense.

“You don’t have to look like you’re enjoying it so much. Some completely random guy has a picture of me on his camera, Phichit! He could be doing God only knows _what_ with it right now.”

Phichit laughed at him, shaking his laptop as he leaned in to rest his arms on his desk.

Yuuri was sprawled out on his bed, chin cushioned on his arms, mouth twisting into a pout. “Real friends don’t laugh at their friends’ pain.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phichit shot back. “That’s _all_ real friends do.”

Yuuri laughed in spite of himself, rolling his eyes. “How’s Thailand?” He asked, easing them into a different topic. Phichit brightened and launched into a lengthy description about how beautiful his homeland was, and how much he had missed it, but Yuuri could hardly pay attention to any of what his friend was saying.

It may have seemed asinine how much it bothered Yuuri that that Viktor kid had a picture of him, but it was worrisome to him. Yuuri was unsure how he felt about how easily Viktor had been able to read him. Yuuri knew that his privacy had been invaded somehow - and it was just as he’d said. There was now some complete and total stranger, some _tourist_ out there with a picture of Yuuri lost in thought. Some weird, creepy kid with a camera around his neck and long, silver hair just had a _picture_ of him.

It didn’t make sense just how much this was bugging him, but Yuuri couldn’t shake it. It was entirely possible that Yuuri was wrong, and that Viktor might not have any nefarious purposes whatsoever but he’d been thinking about it all afternoon. Especially Viktor’s words.

_Kind of like you were longing for something._

Who was Yuuri kidding, really. He knew a bad situation when he saw one. And situations like this were, in his life more often than not, usually bad.

There was a loud, clanging noise followed by a screech from Phichit’s end of the call. Phichit paused mid-story to whip around and shout something in Thai. There was another Thai response and then Phichit was turning back around to look at Yuuri, an apologetic look on his face. Yuuri sighed.

“Don’t look so guilty. Go.”

Phichit looked incredibly relieved. “I know I promised an all night Skype party, but I’ll make it up to you some other time. I swear.”

“Of course.” Yuuri made himself smile to try and ease some of Phichit’s concerns. “Talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later. And, hey, Yuuri?” Yuuri hummed an acknowledgment. “Stop worrying so much about the camera guy. Who knows, maybe your summer just got a whole lot more interesting.”

The ending tone of the Skype call rattled around against the walls of Yuuri’s room before everything went totally silent. Yuuri spent a second frowning at the screen and the empty Skype chat in front of his face before exiting the app and shutting his laptop. He relocated it to the floor beside his bed, and flopped back onto the downy feather of his pillows, which compressed to allocate space for his head.

More interesting? Yuuri wasn’t _interested_ in the boy; contrarily, he felt anxious about him. If he was a tourist, then there was no telling how long he would be around for. Days, weeks, sometimes they stayed for the whole summer if they had family local to the area. Best case scenario, the boy’s family had just come in from off the mainland to do some shopping, or to see the beach. Though he hadn’t looked dressed for the beach at all.

Yuuri sighed, reaching over to turn off his lamp and set his glasses on the bedside table. He kicked off his pants and pushed the sheets back so that he could slip in under them. Moonlight sluiced in through the blinds covering his window, and Yuuri spent an indeterminable amount of time staring at the spinning blades of his ceiling fan until the cricket-song outside of his window lulled him to sleep.

☼

 _There is a boy. No, not_ a _boy._ The _boy. He is a scant few inches taller than Yuuri is, but he somehow looks all the more delicate for it. Dainty, an elven prince donning a threaded crown of flowers, pale blues and pink hues. Behind him, the crash of the waves._

_The skies are dark, thick, rain-heavy clouds spinning above them. Yuuri sees the boy off in the distance and wants to reach out to him, wants to save him from the storm that is threatening to destroy them both, but he can’t move. Yuuri opens his mouth to scream, but he has no tongue, no teeth - his slips slowly stitch themselves closed again, every puncture of the needle an excruciating pain that Yuuri can hardly withstand._

_The boy turns to look at him, and there is no halo of sunlight this time, no camera around his neck. He is barefoot on the shore and coming closer to Yuuri as the tide chases him in. Yuuri extends his hands to him, but the boy falls just short of Yuuri’s reach. He kneels down in front of him and smiles sadly._

_The storm is closing in all around them._

_“Yuuri,” the boy says, sad, sad, sad. Like Yuuri is something to be pitied. “Why are you so lonely?”_

_Yuuri stares at him as the sky begins to collapse, the typhoon sweeping up all of the water; the tsunami is above them, it’s going to kill them, they are both going to die. Yuuri pries his mouth open, digging into his stitches with fingers that pull away bloody, and from the depths of his stomach he cries-_

☼

“-Help!”

Yuuri slammed down against the bed and jerked upright, chest heaving with every labored breath that he urged into his lungs. Sunlight had replaced the slivers of moonlight, and the room was swathed in sticky afternoon heat. Yuuri snatched up his glasses, shoving them on, and glanced at his alarm clock. 1:32pm. He groaned and fell back again, giving himself a moment to recollect his bearings. His brow furrowed, remnants of his dream coming to him in pieces of convoluted memories. It didn’t make sense. Why had he dreamed about Viktor?

The storm dream was normal. He’d had it many, many times before - more often than he would like to admit, really. But he was always alone on the beach in the dream, and while it had never made sense before, it certainly made even less sense now. There had never been anyone else there with him - so why now? Why _Viktor_?

A strange feeling weighed down on Yuuri for the whole afternoon. At two, his mother asked him if he would kindly come down to help with the cafe if he wasn’t doing anything else. Yuuri thought that this might help him escape the oddities of his dream and the lingering abnormality in his bones, but it did nothing to sway the way that he was feeling. He had never remembered a dream so vividly before in his life, and he despised that it was this one that had left such a lasting impression. With how weird his dream had been, was he really any better than Viktor, with his creepy photographing?

The cafe remained steadily busy for the duration of the afternoon, and though Yuuri was kept busy at the register, he could not seem to escape his thoughts.

Close to 8:30 in the evening, half an hour before they closed, the business had died down enough for Yuuri to abandon the counter in order to do a good cafe sweep. His mother had disappeared into the back with his father to clean the kitchen, leaving Yuuri alone to man the front. There were exactly two other people in the cafe, a couple caught up in a deep, private conversation. Their hands were tangled on the square table, legs locked beneath it, eyes soft and warm, mouths curved in gentle smiles. They looked happy - they made him think that his parents must have looked much the same in their own youths.

The bell over the door jingled, and Yuuri stopped eyeing the couple long enough to turn and see Viktor walking into the cafe. He stopped in front of the door, holding it half open as his eyes searched the room before they caught Yuuri mid-sweep, and they widened. Today he looked different than he had the day before. He was not wearing a long-sleeved shirt, having most certainly learned his lesson yesterday, but a form fitting v-neck and a pair of tight jeans. Maybe he’d only _half_ learned his lesson. His hair was pulled back high on his scalp, only a few strands framing the contours of his face, defining every sculpted angle of it. In his free hand, he held a small, square piece of paper.

Yuuri concocted two courses of action. One, he could continue sweeping and ignore Viktor altogether; the margin of error here was that Viktor could easily still talk to him, and though he could pretend to be tuning Viktor out, he would still have to hear his voice. Two, he could take the broom and flee into the backroom to escape all confrontation. It was the latter that Yuuri considered a more viable option, and he glanced at the door longingly, almost ready to make a break for it, but neither of these things actually took place as Viktor was more quick to act than Yuuri could ever dream of being.

Dreams. Ugh, he couldn’t bear to think of his. It made his stomach positively churn. Or maybe that was the cut and dry fear he had of seeing Viktor again.

The door closed behind Viktor as he stepped fully into the cafe and made his way over to where Yuuri now leaned heavily on his broom, sweeping forgotten. Yuuri could not rid himself of the image he had of Viktor in his mind, beautiful on the stormy beach, coming not to Yuuri’s rescue, but to mock him much the same that everyone always did.

 _Why_ hadn’t he run away to the backroom, again?

Viktor walked right up to Yuuri with no hesitancy. He did, however, have an incredibly strange look on his face. Yuuri might have described it as timidity if he knew no better, but no one willing enough to snap pictures of strangers could possibly have the audacity to be timid about much of anything.

“Hi.” Viktor said, disparate with the conjured understanding Yuuri had of him. Viktor shifted his weight and extended his piece of paper out to Yuuri. “I - brought this for you.”

Yuuri blinked down at the paper, unsure of what he was to make of this. A peace offering, perhaps. Yuuri took the paper from Viktor on principle alone, only to find that it was _not_ a piece of paper. Not at all.

It was a picture.

The picture from yesterday, to be exact. The one Viktor had taken of him sitting outside of the cafe.

It was… incredible. Yuuri could characterize it as nothing short of masterfully skilled. Brazen though he may be, Viktor definitely had a talent for photography. Enough so that he was capable of making even _Yuuri_ look like a work of art, something to be admired in a museum, maybe. Yuuri stared down at the photograph and had a hard time comprehending that he was, indeed, looking at himself. There was a contrast of the shadow the awning cast over him and the sunlight that framed the building, hot on the pavement of the sidewalk at Yuuri’s feet.

Seeing that the picture had ended up being so gorgeous made the way it had been taken seem so bittersweet.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “This is beautiful.” Loathe though he was to admit it, it could also not denied.

He looked back up at Viktor. He was biting his lower lip, worrying it between starkly white teeth. Yuuri waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry for offending you yesterday. That wasn’t my intention. I really did just want to take a picture of you.”

And just like that, Yuuri knew that he couldn’t be angry with Viktor anymore. It felt like an evil spirit shuddering out of him, his shoulders going lax in the wake of the frustration. Viktor hadn’t meant any harm at all. He had just misspoken, and Yuuri had misunderstood.

“It’s fine.” Yuuri smiled at him, still small and not wholly trusting, holding the picture more tightly between his fingers. “Really. Sometimes I overreact to things. No hard feelings.”

Viktor’s entire _body_ relaxed visibly, and he let out a breath of relief. He became instantly more chipper, a solid 180 change that left Yuuri rearing back as Viktor began to speak. There was no preamble, just instantaneous conversation.

“I take it that you work here. Is it more of a summer job, or do you stay here year around?”

“Uh, actually, my family owns it. W-we live in the apartment above the cafe.” Yuuri stuttered, unable to make heads or tails of Viktor’s sudden interest in him and the amazed look he was receiving.

“Oooh, that’s so neat. We don’t have things like that where I’m from. Of course, I live in quite a large city, and it isn’t anything like this tiny island of yours!” Viktor smiled at Yuuri, so brilliantly bright that Yuuri thought he might go blind. Yet… he couldn’t stand to look away. There was something enthralling about Viktor. He’d already left his mark on Yuuri if his dreams were anything to go by.

But he refused to think about that right now.

“Where are you from, then?” Yuuri asked. Viktor’s accent was heavy, something Yuuri had noticed but not really paid any such attention to. Their island was its own tossed salad of people from all across the world - Thailand, China, Mexico, Japan, Germany, and the list went on, not to mention the fact that tourists were constantly pouring in from all over the place.

“Russia.” Viktor spoke with the prideful tone of voice that most people used when they spoke about their countries of origin, or their culture. “Saint Petersburg born and raised. What about you?”

“Japan.” Yuuri said, a feeling of fondness overtaking him. “Hasetsu. Most people have never heard of it, though.”

“You’re right, I haven’t!” Viktor laughed, the sound of bell chimes carried on the wind, mouth cracked open on the widest of smiles. Yuuri exhaled sharply, steeling himself. “Are you sure it even really exists?”

“No.” Yuuri teased back, finding it quite easy to play along with the camaraderie. Rewarded with another hearty laugh from Viktor, Yuuri felt pleased with himself.

Viktor seemed harmless enough, but Yuuri reminded himself diligently that he’d thought the same of people in the past, only to be burned by them in the end. He needed to be cautious. It was for his own good.

But sometimes it was easy to ignore things that were good for him.

“How long are you here for?” Yuuri asked. Talking to Viktor wasn’t bad at all. It felt like being reunited with an old friend, almost, except for the fact that any of the old friends Yuuri had were not people he _ever_ wanted to come across again.

“A month. My mother is here on business, actually. She owns an international franchise of fashion boutiques, and she’s planning on opening one here, a few stores down. The tourism this place attracts promises good business, or so she says.” Viktor’s smile softened. “It’s a beautiful place, after all. Miles and miles of beachfront, lovely people, lots of fun things to do. Living here must be an everyday adventure.”

The heart Yuuri had was one that made it impossible for him to tell Viktor just how wrong he was. True, the island was beautiful, but the people were not nice. The cruelties of the island were masked by thin veils of hospitality, garnished by friendly words and congenial smiles, but Yuuri knew the truth.

Yuuri had faced the beasts under those porcelain visors, he knew what it was like to be an outsider on this island. Here, there was a difference between being _from_ the outside, and being an _outsider_. The island, the town, it loved the tourists. Tourism meant money, and money satiated all the greed and under-the-table evils that took place on this cursed land.

Being different was a crucifixion of monumental proportions not limited to just the youthful bunches, but extending into adult territories as well. To be anything outside of the norm was a death sentence, and Yuuri had not been offered a proper trial for his accused crimed. He had always suffered, and living here, he always would.

It was, at the heart of it, about more than just the boredom he felt on this island, though that did play its part: it was also about the fact that ridicule followed Yuuri everywhere he went. Judgmental eyes rested around every corner. There was no escaping it.

Viktor could not understand it, because Viktor had not lived it.

So instead of telling Viktor that he was wrong, Yuuri smiled at him, and laughed. The joke was, after all, remarkably funny.

From Viktor’s pocket came a buzz, and through the fabric of his pants Yuuri could see the faintest blue glow. His phone was vibrating, and Viktor jumped at it before sliding his phone out and accepting the call. Viktor immediately slid into speaking Russian, so Yuuri could understand none of it, and therefore tuned it out. He glanced around the cafe to find that it was well and truly empty, now. The couple Yuuri had spied on before must have taken their hushed words of love elsewhere, leaving Yuuri and Viktor to their own devices, as it were.

The clock on the wall above the window said 9:12. It was past closing. Yuuri gasped and rushed over to the door, flipping the “open” sign so that through the glass it said “closed.” He was fortunate that no one else had come in while Yuuri had been distracted by talking to Viktor, though he could hardly fathom that they had been talking for such a long time.

Viktor remained on the phone for only a moment more before ending the call and putting his phone back in his pocket. He turned around and smiled at Yuuri, something sullen ridging the corners of his lips.

“That was my mom asking where I’ve been.” He explained. “She wants me to come home.”

Yuuri didn’t know why he felt so very disappointed to hear those words. Perhaps it was because it had been so very long since he’d had such fun talking to someone for more than just a few seconds at a time. It was refreshing. It was… nice.

“Of course.” Yuuri nodded, lifting the picture up to wave it lightly. “Thank you again for this, and, ah, sorry for being so rude yesterday. I thought you may have been making fun of me.” His cheeks felt red-hot, and he frowned.

Viktor looked stunned and confused all at once. “Why would I do something like that?” He asked, but Yuuri did not have the strength to tell him that it was not uncommon for him to find himself in situations like that. It was no rarity for Yuuri. Viktor pursed his lips and looked down, catching sight of something. Without preamble, he reached into the pocket of Yuuri’s apron and plucked out the Sharpie Yuuri kept there at all times.

Then, he took the picture from Yuuri, and bent over to bear down on the closest table as he began scrawling something out on the back of the photograph. He popped the cap back onto the Sharpie when he had finished his handiwork, and handed both it and the picture back to Yuuri.

In curving, delicate handwriting were ten, beautifully drawn digits. Viktor’s name was signed below them.

He had given Yuuri his phone number.

Yuuri looked back up at Viktor, wide eyed and taken aback, but Viktor only smiled at him. He maneuvered himself around Yuuri to get to the door, pulling it open. Ocean tinged night air gushed into the room, the smell of the sea strong in the dark outside. It was salty-sweet, the smell of love, of joy. It was a smell that reminded Yuuri of home, comfort, safety. Viktor stepped out, still holding the door with just one hand. The street lamp outside hit Viktor with a silhouette of light and dark, his elongated shadow crisp and clean on the sidewalk outside of the cafe.

“It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” Viktor said. “I do, however, feel inclined to inform you that you’ve yet to tell me your name.”

 _Shit_.

Yuuri nearly let his broom go toppling to the ground as embarrassment crashed down around him. How had he _not managed to tell Viktor his name the entire time that they had been talking_?

“It’s Yuuri!” He wheezed, face so hot that it was nigh unnatural. He was such an embarrassment, dear lord.

Viktor laughed at him, and rather than being awestruck by the beauty of it the same way he had been earlier, Yuuri was more ashamed of himself for being so careless that he’d forgotten to tell Viktor his _name_.

“Well, Yuuri,” and it sounded so nice when Viktor said it. There was no vicious heat behind it the way the boys at school possessed when they uttered the letters. “You should text me. And I hope we get to see each other around.”

With one last wave, Viktor let the door shut, and he sauntered off down the sidewalk. Yuuri stared at the vacated doorway for a long while, heart thumping. Yesterday afternoon had been extended panic, but tonight was something entirely different. Knowing that Viktor was, as far as Yuuri could tell, friendly made things innately better and less scary. He didn’t have to worry about being harassed by Viktor.

At least not on a superficial level.

Yuuri wondered, though, how things would change if Viktor ever learned about the things Yuuri kept private, now. The things he denied. What would Viktor think of him if he _really_ knew Yuuri? Under no circumstances could Yuuri open up to him - there were some (many) things that were better left unsaid. Who knew, maybe if Yuuri was never honest with Viktor, they could become friends. Temporary friends, but friends nonetheless.

The creak of unoiled hinges spoiled the quiet of the room. “Is everything alright out here, dear?” The sweet sound of his mother’s voice came from behind him. After several long seconds, Yuuri could think of only one way to respond to her question:

“I can’t believe I forgot to tell him my _name_.”

He groaned, and pressed his forehead down against the tip of the broom handle.

A day would come when Yuuri Katsuki was capable of functioning well in social situations, but today was _not_ that day. It probably wouldn’t be tomorrow, either.

Still, that didn’t stop him from curling up in his bed a short while later, lights off, moonlight flooding his room, side pressed to the mattress and phone held close to his face as he sent Viktor a text.

_Thank you for not being as mean as I thought you were._

He did not dream that night, and he woke the next morning complicatedly happy, yet somehow sorrowful. He did not understand it.

☼

His feet pumped the pedals in earnest, butt lifting up off the seat as he leaned forward over the handlebars of the bike, the incline of the hill steep. He breathed heavily as he rode up and up and up, but when he reached the top, he plopped down onto the seat, and let gravity do the rest, pulling him down.

Yuuri’s hair whipped back out of his face as he cruised along the other side of the hill. The wind snapped at his skin, smelling salty and fresh, as it always did out here. There were many things about the island that Yuuri abhorred, a great deal of things that had not been kind to him, but the beauty of their town was never failing. The air remained unpolluted, and out on the open stretch of barren road leading out of town, Yuuri could taste freedom in every gulp of oxygen. He was the king of his own design in moments like this.

From here, one could see the bridge that would take them into the mainland, but it was still miles and miles away, lined by sloping beach dunes and preceded by stretches of ups and downs. Miles of weedy grass and nothing but road.

It was a straight shot from here to the city, and sometimes Yuuri liked to imagine that he could bike the whole way in. Just start pedaling and never stop, no turning back. He could get a job in the city and pretend like his time on the island had never existed.

He wouldn’t do any of that, of course, not really, but it was a nice thought to entertain when things got hard. Some days it was the only thing that kept him afloat.

The day was hot and humid, not unlike most days during the summer out here, and Yuuri’s skin was already dotted with beads of sweat.

He could turn his head and look out at the ocean, the light playing tricks on the water so that it looked like every wave was a new set of dancers, cascading in towards the shore. Tangos and salsas and waltzes, fluid and pristine as they one-two stepped their way forward, only to draw back, a teasing display of seduction. And Yuuri was steadfastly seduced.

About a mile and a half out of town, there was a cluster of trees, just enough to obstruct what rested on the other side of them from the main road. Yuuri turned his handles to careen off the road and out into the grass, leaving a trail of pressed weeds behind him. Some of them popped back up in his wake, and some were shorter, anyhow, tickling his ankles and bare legs. It was too hot for long pants, today; shorts better suited this weather, even if it meant being itchy later.

He navigated his way through the trees, coming to a full stop when he got to his destination.

The cliff was a quiet location overlooking the ocean, undisturbed by civilization and just as untainted by it. Other than himself, Yuuri wasn’t sure if anyone knew about this place. It was his spot, and his alone. There was a concave at one edge of the cliff that dipped down and sloped out onto the beach, but this place was so far off from the main beach that it was rare to see anyone down on the sand. He’d been coming here for solace for years, ever since he’d stumbled acrossed it for the first time.

He had been in junior high still, seeking refuge. That day he had fully intended to fulfill his dream of biking into the city. A group of boys had harassed him to the point of tears at school, and he hadn’t even stopped at the cafe after classes ended. His tiny feet had kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, until his adolescent legs had given out and he’d gone crashing into the grass, a face covered in snot and tears.

He remembered their words like it was yesterday, because they would always haunt him. He would grow, he would age, and he would still never forget what they had tattooed into his brain, words that were branded into his head and could not be removed.

 _Faggot. Fairy. Queer. Fatass_.

Each of them had been like a slap to the face, a stab to the gut. Almost more painful than the real punches and slaps and kicks. His mother had asked him about his bruises, later, when he had finally come home, but he had always blamed it on gym class. For years, it was always gym. He had fallen off of the climbing rope. He had tripped during soccer. His hands were too sweaty to grip the monkey bars, but he hadn’t realized in time. A jump from the swing gone wrong. She had looked at him with sad eyes, the same ones she looked at him with even now when he came home from school with out of place bruises or scratches, but she never pressed.

The wind felt nice on his hot, exerted skin. Yuuri took in a deep, calming breath, closed his eyes, and let it out again. He could practically taste the sea on his lips, wishing, for a moment, that he had brought his swim trunks along. Instead he would make due with the book he _had_ brought, taking it out of his basket and climbing off of his bike. He propped against the nearest tree, and then fell back onto the grass. It was softer here than it was closer to the road, less itchy and more like the warm embrace of a hug. It was sun-hot, and formed a mold around Yuuri’s body as he made himself more comfortable.

As more time passed, Yuuri found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. High up above, the sun was gracing every inch of his body with a soothing touch. That, coupled with the gentle breeze that being so close to the water provided… Yuuri felt as though he might be able to take a nap like this. If only just for a moment. He closed his eyes, setting his book down on his chest. Leaves rustled in the trees around him, playing tag with each other as the wind catcalled them into action. Their lullaby had Yuuri melting into the plush grass, limbs slack in preparation for slumber.

His phone buzzed.

Yuuri gasped and twitched himself back to consciousness, a groan on his tongue as he blinked up at the bright blue sky. He became luridly aware of the sun’s ghastly shine, and fished his phone out of his pocket to see who had texted him.

It was Viktor. Yuuri’s heart skipped one, then two, then three beats. He might have died had he not been a stronger man.

**From: Viktor**

**1:27pm**

_Good morning, Yuuri~! ＼(´▽｀*)_

Yuuri double, then triple checked the timestamp to make sure that he was not going crazy. He snorted as he tapped out his reply, choosing his words more carefully than he ever had before while texting. All of his texts to Viktor had been carefully articulated. Days had passed since they’d last seen each other in person that night at the cafe. Parts of Yuuri were still wary of him, not because he seemed menacing, but because Yuuri’s guard was constantly up around new people. And Viktor was, regardless of the… admittedly embarrassing amount of texts they had swapped, still new to him. They were still feeling each other out.

**To: Viktor**

**1:29pm**

_I don’t think that 1:30  constitutes as morning, Viktor._

**From: Viktor**

**1:30pm**

_As far as I’m concerned it does. My day is just starting, after all. (≧∇≦)_

Several things Yuuri had learned about Viktor since they’d started texting: Viktor had the same crux as must teenagers when it came to sleeping in late.

(Yuuri had never adapted to this behavior, because on most of his free days he helped out at the cafe, so while it may not have been foreign to him, as most of his normal friends and acquaintances also did it, it was not something he could relate to).

Viktor also abused his emoticon keyboard. Though Yuuri, too, had one - and some of the emoticons Viktor used did not appear for Yuuri. Yuuri imagined he had an entire document of them saved on his phone, because that seemed like a very Viktor thing to do.

They had a lot in common, the two of them. Viktor liked many of the same things that Yuuri did. He enjoyed watching figure skating, and lamented that in some long forgotten past life, maybe the both of them had been successful ice skaters. Maybe they were famous for it. Viktor’s monologue about this had gone on for several long, weird texts, all of which had Yuuri laughing and simultaneously breathless.

Lastly, Viktor was a _fast_ texter, and entirely the type of person who double, triple, and occasionally even _quadruple_ texted. The thought of doing that was enough to make Yuuri anxious himself, but Viktor saw no qualms with it.

Viktor sent a second text just as Yuuri was thinking this.

**From: Viktor**

**1:31pm**

_I was wondering if you were free tonight, and if you would like to show me around? I’ve been here a week already and have hardly had the chance to see anything at all beyond Main Street… it seems very unfair, don’t you think?_

Yuuri held his breath a beat too long, pushing himself into a sitting position to think for a moment. His eyes focused out on the water, but his vision glazed over as he thought. Would that mean being alone with Viktor? Undoubtedly. And what would people think, if they saw _Yuuri_ with Viktor, just the two of them? What would they do to Yuuri? What would they do to _Viktor_?

The fact of the matter was that being with Viktor in the cafe was not nearly the same as taking Viktor out to show him around the island. Not at all because Yuuri disliked the idea of that, he decided, because he very much _did_ like the idea of showing Viktor around, surprising himself most of all with the realization. No, it was because of the reputation that Yuuri had. There were things that people knew (or at the very least _thought_ they knew, and to a bully that alone was power enough) that could very well be putting Viktor in danger. He was a tourist, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a target, too.

Yuuri’s chest was so tight that he couldn’t breathe. He had to stop thinking about it. He couldn’t think about Viktor going home to his mother covered in bruises just because people had seen him with Yuuri, just because he didn’t know how _disgusting_ Yuuri was.

It was different with the people who actually knew Yuuri, who had been with him and around him forever. They all knew the risks of being near him, and they were all brave enough to not care. Most of them also had friends in higher places, places where Yuuri was just a forgotten entity.

Phichit _had_ been bullied for hanging around Yuuri. But Phichit was also charismatic and had a personality that went on for miles; he was someone that everyone loved, and in the end that had more inherent value than the fact that he was best friends with Yuuri. In made no difference when he stood up for Yuuri, though. There wasn’t much that could stand between the evils and Yuuri.

The point was that Yuuri’s friends were safe in ways that Viktor was not. He would be putting Viktor in what could be very serious danger.

And Yuuri just could not do that to him.

**To: Viktor**

**1:39pm**

_Ah, I’m sorry. I actually can’t today._

Yuuri powered his phone down, haphazardly fumbling it back it into his pocket, fingers shaking and eyes glossy. He stood up, just barely remembering to grab his book where it had slid from his chest onto the grass, and climbed onto his bike.

Halfway back to town, he realized that his legs were too shaky for him to continue riding, period, so he got off the bike and settled on pushing it alongside the road instead. Every breath was searing pain, and the whole way back to the cafe, he was choking down tears. Cars passed, and every single time, a nagging place at the back of Yuuri’s mind somewhat wished that one might hit him and leave him for dead.

Yuuri could always, always count on just two constants, if nothing else: he would always be lonely, time would not ever change this; and there was but one other word echoing in his head like a record stuck on repeat, broken and screeching, a haunting mantra that Yuuri could not elude, no matter how hard he tried:

_Faggot. Faggot. Faggot._

☼

Dusk had fallen, and Yuuri was doing his best to avoid his parents. He’d come home and promptly holed himself up in his room, foregoing dinner entirely, at least until his mother and father retired for the night. Sometimes Yuuri missed Mari. They’d been at each other’s throats a lot of the time, as siblings were wont to do, but she was also always there to support him, like any good big sister would be. Selfishly, Yuuri thought she was the best older sibling in the world, and that he alone was lucky enough to have her as his own. She had moved out in the spring, and Yuuri was still very much adapting to her absence. And it was hard. There were things he’d been willing to tell her in full knowledge that she would never breathe a word to another soul.

It was not that his parents would not offer the same courtesy, but… there seemed to be a disconnect, there. That was the best way that Yuuri could think to put it.

Whereas Yuuri had spent his afternoon alone in his room sobbing into a pillow, with Mari around, she would have knocked some sense into his head and told him to square up. Then she would have listened to every single one of his worries and offered him her signature, sagely advice.

Yuuri felt starkly alone without her, without anyone to go to. Phichit might have been his second option, but Yuuri knew that today was Phichit’s grandmother’s seventieth birthday (he had told Yuuri so just the night before), and Yuuri would feel rude for demanding any amount of Phichit’s attention. Plus, Yuuri was unsure of the _exact_ time in Thailand… he thought it might be too early there, anyway.

All Yuuri could really work up the gumption to do at this point was to alternate between trying to read, and staring at the blur of his ceiling fan as it moved in tireless circles.

He didn’t want to worry his parents, and so it was best if he just stayed away from them entirely. Today had been startlingly rough on him. There were those times when Yuuri realized just how alone he actually was, and everything that followed those times seemed to be amplified in feelings that were exhorbitantly stronger than normal.

Yuuri really, _really_ missed his sister.

There was a soft rapping on his bedroom door. Yuuri broke his fan-staring trance and looked over at the wood, adorned with posters of his favorite athletes, which just so happened to mostly be figure skaters, and he considered not getting up at all. His bed was too comfortable to abandon. His bed was his only friend, in fact.

The rapping came again, more loudly, and Yuuri sighed as he propelled himself off the bed, socked feet padding over the hardwood floor as he went to pry open his door.

It was Viktor.

Yuuri slammed the door shut again, eyes wide and terrified, immediately shooting over to the window as he planned his escape route. He could probably jump from his window to the awning down below and make a safe descent onto the streets if he was extremely careful. What were the chances of scoring a broken leg from a drop like that…?

Once he was done being ridiculous, Yuuri opened the door again, hand groping blindly at the door knob. Viktor looked as bewildered as Yuuri was feeling. To be fair, he had just had a door slammed shut in his face. Yuuri cringed.

“Sorry - that was super rude.” He said, rubbing his lips together. “What are you doing here?”

Yuuri became very aware of how off-kilter he looked now that he was face to face with Viktor. Viktor looked put together as always, his hair pulled to the side in a loose plait, a flowy t-shirt and, once again, long pants. Didn’t he ever get hot wearing them?

Yuuri looked the way he felt: like a sloppy, messy teenage boy with more anxiety than he was able to account for. His sweatpants were two sizes too big, and his pajama shirt was awry on his shoulder. His hair was tousled from rolling around in bed for a vast majority of the afternoon, and his face felt swollen. Crying always made his face feel swollen.

Viktor even smelled nice - sort of like a faded cologne. Not anything too strong. Yuuri wasn’t finding himself offended by the scent or anything of that nature. It was a subtle smell, only just teasing the senses. Yuuri liked it. He liked it a lot.

“You weren’t replying to any of my texts.” Viktor said, and, oh, he sounded so sad. Sad? Because Yuuri hadn’t been replying to him? That wasn’t something that Yuuri was used to at all. No one ever got upset when Yuuri forgot to reply to them - it was usually just the opposite. People didn’t _like_ talking to him.

But Viktor sounded sad.

“My phone died, and I fell asleep.” Yuuri should have been guilty for lying straight to Viktor’s face, but, one: being honest with him about what had really transpired was out of the question and, two: Viktor seemed to recover some of his general happiness when it seemed like Yuuri hadn’t been deliberately ignoring him. It wasn’t a _full_ recovery, but it was something that Yuuri could work with. Yuuri scrunched up his nose. “You came all the way here just because I didn’t reply? It’s only been a few hours.”

Viktor huffed in disbelief. “You stopped texting me at 1:40, and it’s almost eight now. I just - wanted to make sure you were alright, I guess. The way you stopped talking to me seemed so abrupt and odd, but I guess it makes sense if your phone died. I walked down here and asked the woman out front- who I assume must be your mother. She’s a very nice woman! Anyway, I asked her if you were here, and she immediately took me up here. She said you’d been locked up in here all afternoon, and that you must have not been feeling well.”

Viktor frowned. “You do look somewhat flushed. Are you feeling sick?”

“Yes.” Yuuri lied again, hurrying to cover up his tracks on all accounts. The less Viktor knew, the better. “That’s why I couldn’t show you around tonight. I woke up, uh, a little under the weather, I guess. I just needed to rest.”

If Viktor had actually known Yuuri even a little bit better, he would have known that Yuuri’s biggest tell was scratching his nose. Which he was doing at that exact moment, feeling so very blessed that Viktor had no idea how much Yuuri was lying to him.

Yuuri’s stomach twisted sharply, and Yuuri became painfully aware of the fact that he did not like lying to Viktor one tiny bit. It incriminated him to be so deceptive, but he also wasn’t sure how much he could tell Viktor without repulsing him. Surely Viktor would not respond well to knowing that Yuuri had had a full blown panic attack at the idea of taking Viktor out to show him around, just because of the chance that someone would see them together and assume all the wrong things.

But Viktor seemed so nice. He seemed so genuinely interested in Yuuri, like he really did just want to be his friend. As though for any reason at all Yuuri was _deserving_ of that friendship.

Yet Yuuri could not understand why it was that Viktor was so intrigued by him, or why he had taken to be so kind to Yuuri. Things would have been easier if Viktor had been what Yuuri had assumed him to be. Yuuri knew how to deal with monsters. It was the knights that Yuuri could not fare with. Fire breathing required only a shield - but an ally… those required patience, and trust. Things Yuuri had in very small amounts, these days.

Viktor took a moment longer to stand there and look at Yuuri, mouth warring between a pout and an understanding frown. “Let’s make a compromise.” He said, matter-of-factly.

“What kind of compromise?” Yuuri asked, his deep rooted curiosity taking advantage of him.

“When you get to feeling better,” Viktor’s words were even, but not unkind, not accusatory. “You have to take me out for real. To at _least_ one place. Your _favorite_ place in town.”

Yuuri swallowed.

It was an awful idea, one that he could not agree to. He knew that, from the very bottom of his heart, it was something that was out of the question. Endangering Viktor was not remotely close to something Yuuri was willing to do.

Then why was it that he found himself nodding?

_Why was he agreeing?_

“Okay,” Yuuri said, and his voice was betraying him. His heart was betraying his brain, turning its back on it one fell swoop, youthful follies that could be life altering for either of them, for both of them. He was going to get them both hurt for being so foolish.

And maybe he was being dramatic, or maybe he wasn’t. Yuuri only knew that there were people on this island and in this town that had left him bloodied and scarred for life, and that any of that could happen to Viktor just easily if they got the wrong idea about him. And that would be blood on Yuuri’s hands.

Viktor, ignorant and unaware, smiled at Yuuri. A million watts locked up in one man, releasing energy and light and a small, sliver of hope that felt more like a poisonous dagger every time Yuuri was faced with the sight of it.

“Great!” Viktor said cheerfully. “You don’t have to walk me out or anything. Get some rest. And text me, okay? I mean it.”

Yuuri watched him go. Watched the line of his back as Viktor walked down the hallway and down the stairs again. When Yuuri heard the door at the end of the stairwell open, and then subsequently close again, he backed up until the back of his knees hit the bed. He sat down, uneasy, on the edge of his mattress, and stared at the door.

Was he making a friend, or was he making a mistake?

☼

_The dream starts out much the same as it always does. The storms overhead are a breathing creature preparing for their attack, and Yuuri cannot budge from the place he is standing. He feels the fear and the anxiety slithering up his legs, scaly and serpentine in movement as they coil and undulate, tearing through his skin and sinking their fangs directly into his veins._

_At first, the sand is barren. It is empty. Yuuri is completely, utterly alone._

_But he blinks, and there Viktor is, hair swept up high in a carefully intricate top-knot, and it is topped with a golden crown, pressed with the finest jewels. He appears at Yuuri’s feet, and urges him to kneel, too, and so Yuuri does. The sand shifts beneath their feet, and Viktor is close enough for Yuuri to touch. He could reach out, he could let Viktor save the both of them - but his arms are too heavy. His limbs are too weak. The muscles are not working the way that they should be, and it almost feels like there is a barrier separating him from Viktor entirely. One that Yuuri wishes he were strong enough to break._

_“Why are you so lonely, Yuuri?” Viktor whispers. Yuuri isn’t sure how it is possible for his words to be so quiet and yet so loud over the deafening thunder and winds, but Yuuri hears everything, down to the clacking of Viktor’s teeth as he shuts his mouth._

_“I don’t know.” Yuuri whispers back, but Viktor can’t hear him. It’s impossible for Viktor to hear him._

_“There are people all around you who love you and who would support you, if only you would just open up to them.”_

_“I can’t!” Yuuri screams it out, this time, as the rain begins to fall in sheets all around them. It’s happening again. The world is ending. Yuuri just wants to make it through the storm. He just wants - he wants -_

_He wants to be saved._

_“Please, please help me! I need you to help me!”_

_Viktor smiles at him, presses his fingers to the invisible barrier, and cocks his head to the side._

_“Then let me in.”_

_And so Yuuri does._

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/yuurikatsukiss), where I scream about viktuuri and my writing. Come chill.
> 
> 1) Yes, I know. You have a lot of questions. Good! Because as the story progresses, I have a lot of answers. I promise that there's gonna be some payoff.  
> 2) If there are any mistakes, I'll catch them and patch them up later. I literally wrote over eight thousand words of this in... a single day. I hate myself, man.  
> 3) Feedback is the gift that keeps on giving. Love me. Leave a comment, a kudos, a bookmark. Make me feel like this is something I should continue!  
> 4) I love you.


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